Christmas Star (Contemporary, Romance) (2 page)

He snapped back a crisp white cuff to look at a wafer-thin watch. “If you’ve finished lunch, perhaps we can discuss this further in the privacy of my car. It’s obvious I need to tell you more.”

Starr refused to respond to his practiced smile. Nice as Harrison was, he was still a politician. In her position with Fish and Game, she dealt frequently with politicians whose regard for the state’s wildlife was less than noble. Rising with him, she said, “Just so you know up front, I’m nobody’s patsy. And don’t think you can trade on your friendship with my dad. You know how I feel about his misuse of power.” She paused, frowning. “In the case of that freighter, your state committee handled the violations faster than I could have. It was that simple. If I agree to help you, it’d only be to save those sheep.”

Harrison signed the check. “I understand. Believe me, your wish is my command.” Smiling, he dropped a socially correct kiss on her cheek. Then, hand at her waist, he guided her out, all the while filling her ear with promises.

Starr knew he was pulling out all the stops on his considerable charm. She found it comical—until he stopped to collect her coat and she suddenly felt as if they were being watched by unfriendly eyes. A quick glance over her shoulder turned up nothing but guests involved in eating.

She and Harrison resumed walking. It was probably nothing more than his cloak-and-dagger attitude, she thought. Except that the feeling persisted, and Starr didn’t protest when he draped an arm casually around her shoulders as they waited for the elevator.

* * *

A
T A TABLE
cleverly hidden behind a group of potted ficus, Barclay McLeod sat and watched the progress of the vibrant redhead. As she swept toward the exit with his older brother, she garnered male interest from every table. Tall and leggy, she exuded a sexual energy that left him practically drooling into the plants.

The younger McLeod took a moment to catch his breath. He’d come into town late last night, driving up from the ranch to see for himself why Harrison was shirking his husbandly duties. Well, he’d sure enough gotten his answer. In spades.

His temper returned. No wonder it had taken near subterfuge to worm the location of this lunch date out of a secretary who knew good and well that he was the senator’s brother. And why the maître d’ had refused to lead him to Harrison’s table. Now, considering the touching scene he’d just witnessed, Clay was glad.

Uncoiling his six-foot-plus frame from the uncomfortable Victorian chair, he snatched his new felt hat with the cattleman’s crease from an adjoining chair, peeled out enough cash to pay his bill and dropped it on the table. He spared a brief glance for all the three-piece suits around him. Even in his expensive leather sports coat and boots polished to a high sheen, Clay felt out of place here.

Once, Harrison would have, too. Apparently the older brother he used to idolize had changed. A lot.

Sad—and angry—Clay stalked past the maître d’, pulled his hat low on his forehead and unleashed his pent-up fury on the elevator button.

How long, he wondered, had Harrison been fooling around with that babe? Irritated, Clay jabbed the button again. He and Harris kept up business matters over the phone, but they hadn’t seen each other since—when? A year ago Thanksgiving? Had it been
that
long?

Vanessa and Morgan often came to the ranch of course. Without his brother. To think of all the times, such as last Christmas, he’d stood up for the son of a bitch. Clay recalled assuring Vanessa it was affairs of the state that prevented her husband from coming home on such an important family holiday.

Ha! Now, as he thought back to all the times Vanessa had cried on his shoulder about Harrison’s waning attention—and how he’d continually made excuses for his brother—Clay wanted to spit. What a fool he’d been.

The elevator opened. He strode into the car, oblivious to the crowd of people who had to part to make space for him. Nor did he care that his ferocious scowl stopped talk, allowing the car to glide all the way to the lobby in silence. Clay emerged in time to see Harrison help his babe into a long black limo, then climb in himself. When the door shut, the two of them were out of sight behind conveniently dark windows.

Clay fumed. Gross misuse of a state vehicle if ever there was one. More than annoyed, he yanked his hat brim until it all but sat on the well-defined bridge of his nose. Perhaps some taxpayer should give the senior state senator a lesson—in marital fidelity, among other things.

Well, the senator’s brother just might be the man for the job. Did Harrison know—or care—that at this moment his wife was at their apartment packing stuff into Clay’s carryall? Apparently not.

Striding to the curb, Clay grabbed the first cab. He leapt into the back seat and ordered the driver to follow the limousine.

* * *

S
ECONDS AFTER
H
ARRISON
gave his driver Starr’s address and closed the partition, Starr returned to the subject of the sheep. “Save the smiles for your constituents, Senator. I’m immune. Do you have any idea how few bighorns are left in California? San Jacinto is finally rebuilding its herd after rangers caught that poacher out of L.A. The guy’d been sneaking hunters up the face of the mountain for months to take the big rams.”

“Then maybe it’s something totally unrelated to the exploration.” Harrison’s troubled brown eyes met hers squarely. “I mean, you just brought up another possibility. What if the guy had disgruntled relatives?”

“You mean someone’s poisoning the sheep? No, the naturalist’s blood tests would have shown it.”

“I suppose. But I swear to you, darlin’, I’m as anxious to get to the bottom of this mess as you are.” He shifted to face Starr and placed an arm along the seat behind her head. “I trust you to keep this under your hat. Truth is, Starr, the state is going broke. We need this oil strike bad. For the jobs and the revenue.”

“Oh, God!” she said, slumping against his arm. “I thought that was only rumor.”

In a taxi behind the limo, a scowling man made note of the darker shadows in the limo’s back window and formed his own opinion about what was going on. His growl was loud enough and surly enough for the cabbie to shoot him a wary look.

But nothing was going on, except that Starr was reassessing the situation. “I want to do my part of course. But the timing is terrible. SeLi’s gotten herself into trouble again at school. If you could find someone else—”

“We want you, Starr,” Harrison cajoled. “Can you imagine the panic if any of this gets out? Besides, with your background in sheep, I doubt you’d need a week. Take the kid with you. A change of venue might do her good,” he urged. “Cloud Haven Ranch lies in the valley below the preserve. It’d be perfect for your home base and a great place for SeLi to explore.”

“I know that name. You grew up there, right? My father lived down the hill at Willow Bend. But...I thought your parents moved to Florida.”

“They did. Clay runs the ranch now. My shares are temporarily in trust. In addition to breeding top bulls, Cloud Haven has some of the best quarter horses in the state. You ride, I presume? This time of year the preserve is only accessible by horseback.”

“Clay runs the ranch? Clay, as in the brother who’s fooling around with your wife?”

Harrison flushed. “It takes two to fool around,” he said darkly. “And maybe if you and SeLi are there, Van might think twice. I can almost guarantee Clay won’t impede your progress if we feed him the story I’ve cooked up for your boss—that the university wants you on loan to do some genetic studies on the sheep.”

The senator let those words sink in, then said, “My brother’s soft on kids and animals. But you can’t mention the explorations. I’ll need your promise on that, Starr. Consider what’s at stake. Your job—millions of jobs. My political future. My life,” he added dramatically.

The limo stopped outside her building as Starr switched mental gears. She contemplated SeLi’s Christmas break; this trip would not only allow her to help save the sheep, it might give her a chance to reach the root of SeLi’s problem. Starr wanted to be able to keep her nine-year-old daughter in a private school where class sizes were smaller. SeLi had been steeped in all manner of unsavory elements on the docks. And old habits died hard. Already they’d gone through three schools. Starr was at her wits’ end. A few days in the bosom of Mother Nature might be just what they needed.

Harrison cut into her thoughts. “I’d be willing to call Judge Forbes and arrange for you to take SeLi out of town. What do you say, Starr? Can I start the ball rolling?”

She opened the car door and stepped out, in spite of a fine mist that was turning to rain. “And bypass Wanda Manning, who already resents the way you intervened? No. If I agree,
I’ll
deal with her and my boss. And with Dr. Ellsworth.”

Harrison’s driver left the car running and hurried around the vehicle to hold an umbrella over Starr. She bent to speak, never thinking the senator would scoot out on her heels. He nearly bowled her over.

His quick action in grasping Starr’s shoulders kept them both from taking a tumble. “Who’s Ellsworth?” he asked as he took the umbrella from his driver and sent the man back into the limo. “He’s not your boss.”

Starr saw that his tie was knocked askew and reached to straighten it. “Dr. Ellsworth and I are colleagues. Stanley’s a brilliant biochemist. But he sort of fancies himself my...mentor.” She smiled. “If you were to ask SeLi, she’d call him a nerd. Preferable, I might add, to what she called him last week in public at the science fair. Would you believe ‘Stanley Stud’?”

Harrison threw back his head and laughed. “Ah, Starr, that child’s something. I don’t envy you. Although,” he said, suddenly sober, “at times, I wish Morgan showed a bit of her gumption.”

Starr suffered a twinge of sadness. It was so obvious that Senator McLeod loved his wife and child. Her own parents, a Hollywood producer and actress, had had a stormy marriage. Starr’s childhood had been rocky—one reason she so badly wanted to give SeLi stability.

“Senator,” Starr said impulsively, placing a hand on his arm, “I’ll go. But I won’t stay at
Judas
McLeod’s ranch. Dad’s filming in Japan. He has a motor home in storage, and I’m sure his staff will give me the key. There are campgrounds near the preserve—Idyllwild, for instance—so hookups shouldn’t be a problem. What’s the weather down there doing now?”

Harrison shifted the umbrella and gave her a quick peck on the lips. “I’ll find out. But please stay at the ranch. We’ve got two concrete pads with hookups some distance from the house. I’ll be more comfortable knowing you’re there—and I’ll be able to reach you. Not that I can be visibly connected, you understand. Oh, by the way, I’ve taken the liberty of setting up a special number for messages.” He pulled a piece of paper from his breast pocket.

She felt a moment’s unease at the fact that he’d done all this before she’d even agreed. And she’d have to cram her Christmas shopping into two weeks. Was she crazy? Then she visualized the dying sheep and knew she had little choice—she was the best person for the job.

He pressed the paper into her hand. “Be careful, Starr. Until you mentioned poachers, it never occurred to me some nut case might be involved. If anything happened to you, your dad would... Well, don’t do anything foolish.”

She nodded, lifting a hand to brush raindrops from his lapel. “This is silly, standing out here in the rain. Besides, you’re beginning to make me doubt my decision.”

“Think of it as your patriotic duty,” he said, crawling back into the limo. “I’ll touch base with you tomorrow. Do you need anything?”

“No. Stanley will get me the equipment I’ll need.” As she bent to close his door, she said with feeling, “I’m sure you and Vanessa will work things out. How could she
not
recognize that you’re the nicer brother?”

Grinning, he rapped sharply on the partition, signaling his driver to leave.

Starr turned and raced toward the entrance of the luxury condominiums. Blevins appeared out of nowhere to open the door, and Starr ducked inside, paying no heed to a cab that sat idling across the street.

“Miss SeLi is upstairs with the Donnelly twins,” said the gray-haired man who held the door. “Shall I have Mrs. Blevins let them know you’re home?”

Starr shook droplets of water from her hair. “Give me a minute to change clothes and unwind. It’s time for another heart-to-heart with my little charmer, and I need to rehearse my speech.”

The portly Englishman nodded. “Mrs. Blevins remarked last night that you deserve sainthood, taking on that pistol.”

Starr stepped into the vacant elevator and laughed. “SeLi does keep me on my toes.” As she pushed the third-floor button, her attention was drawn to a man hurrying toward the glass door.

She stared at his black cowboy hat, then let her gaze roam down his lean body to a pair of highly polished, square-toed black boots. For no explainable reason, her pulse quickened. She was vaguely disappointed when the elevator door slid shut, blocking him from view.

It was the dark hair curled slightly over the collar of his black leather sports coat, she decided. She was a sucker for men with that slightly disheveled look. Did the stranger also have a mustache? She wasn’t positive about that, but for sure the part of his face not shadowed by the hat was tanned a healthy bronze. She envied him the tan. All she’d seen in San Francisco for weeks now was fog and rain.

Her reverie ended when the elevator bumped to a stop. It wasn’t like her to get carried away about a man—a cowboy yet. But cowboy-types were oddities in the city. Idle curiosity—that was all it’d been. Even so, as she dug out her key, Starr wasted a moment wondering why he was here. Just needed directions? Or was he visiting someone in the building?

Or maybe, she mused, letting herself into the apartment, he was a millionaire come to rent the penthouse. As far as she knew, it was the only vacancy in the building. A damned expensive place, too.

As she hung her coat to dry, her more immediate problems edged out her speculations about a man she never expected to see again. Proceeding into the bedroom, she kicked off her shoes, removed her suit and unbuttoned her blouse. Pausing, she mulled over how best to start the discussion with her daughter.